


Beautiful, Beloved

by bigbbygrl



Series: Beloved 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Brotherly Love, Codependency, Coping, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Feelings Realization, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Series Finale, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbbygrl/pseuds/bigbbygrl
Summary: A Sam/Dean fic placed at the end of episode 15x19. The  boys are winding down from the fight, and emotions come tumbling out. We follow their journey all the way to the finale.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Beloved 'Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104134
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	1. Running On Empty

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILERS FOR 15x19!!**
> 
> Hi! This is my first fic ever, so please be gentle haha. I hope to make more parts to this, but I had to write this really quick after I saw 15x19, and THAT ENDING SCENE. I just watched 15x20 before posting this and... Well I cried my eyes out. So this whole fic (if I do end up writing more) is placed after Inherit the Earth, and will probably bleed into Carry On. So yeah, hope you enjoy!

"Just, you and me. Going wherever the story takes us. Just us."

"Finally free."

Sam huffed out a breath and blinked back tears threatening to spill over. He watches Dean smile out of the corner of his eye, and looks down. He was so relieved. It was bittersweet though, they lost Cas, and to some extent Jack, though the process. He felt his brother's hand land on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, gently squeezing. Sam knew Dean was trying to comfort him, but the thought just made him more teary. 

It's finally over. Finally over. Finally over...

The mantra played in Sam's head over and over again. Dean shook him a little and pulled him closer, looking into Sam's face far a moment before he smirked and started to stand, the hand on Sam's shoulder guiding him to do the same. Once they were both on their feet, Dean led Sam over to the steps leading out to the front room. Dean let go of his shoulder and started up the stairs that led to their front door. Sam stopped and watched Dean climb the first few steps.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks as Dean continues to ascend. Dean stops and looks down, smirk still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Going for a drive. You comin' Sammy?" Dean asks. Although, Sam knows that he;s only asking to pretend like Sam actually has any choice in the matter. But he wouldn't say no anyways. The thought of not being with his brother right now causes a dark sense of sadness to rush through his veins. He should be happy. He should be fine. They were free now.

"Yeah, okay. A drive sounds good actually." Sam slowly follows his brother until they reach the top of the stairs. Dean opens the door with one hand, one still occupied by his beer, and guides Sam through with a hand to his little brother's lower back. He follows soon after and locks the door behind them. He hesitates for a second, wondering if it's really necessary to lock it. Sam senses his hesitation and chuckles.

"There are still monsters and shit Dean," Sam says quietly. Dean huffs a laugh and locks the door. He spins around to face his little brother.

"Yeah I know. I guess after defeating God, nothing really seems that dangerous."

"You can say that again," Sam sighs. 

Finally free finally free finally free...

Dean catches the far away look in Sam's eyes and pats his chest, trying to reassure his brother. Sam snaps out of it and smiles apologetically. Dean shoot a smirk that tells him 'it's all good, I get it'. He begins to walk towards the Impala, Sam on his heels. He didn't bother parking his Baby in the garage. He knew he would need to go on a drive. Driving home was okay, but he needs to be on the road without a destination in mind. 

Sam watches Dean walk to the driver side, and opens the passenger door for himself. He ducks and slides in, finding the feeling incredibly comforting. Relaxing into the leather, he looks over as Dean opens his own door. Sam puts his beer on the floor between his feet and takes Dean's and his brother slides into his seat in a seemingly practiced manner. Dean looks at his beer as Sam hold it, and shrugs. He takes it back and downs the rest of it in one go, placing it on the grave outside before slamming his door shut. Sam sighs and does the same. To be arrested for drinking and driving after everything they went through seemed a little ridiculous. 

Dean watches Sam copy his actions and smiles as he starts the car. Hearing the engine turn over brings a sense of calm over him that slowly melts the remaining adrenaline away. He sits for a moments just listening to the engine until he feels Sam's eyes on him. He turns to see his little brother's blue-green-hazel whatever-the-fuck colored eyes staring back at him. He quirks an eyebrow and Sam looks away, a soft smile dancing over his lips. Dean chuckles and puts his Baby in gear. He flips the radio on, and is pleased to hear Running On Empty by Jackson Browne spill through the speakers. He couldn't have picked a better song himself. He laughs and so does Sam as he reaches over to turn it up. Dean speeds down the road opposite to the one they take when they need to go to town. Sam looks over to him, but doesn't comment. He knows. That makes Dean smile again. 

After about twenty minutes of soaking up the atmosphere, Sam starts to retreat into his head. It's something he normally does when they ride, so it's almost instinct. The problem is, that's the last place he wants to be right now. There are so many things left unanswered, so many loose ends... He shakes his head and tries to just enjoy the drive with his brother. After all, he can't remember the last time they just drove for the fun of it. Maybe Dean had recently, but Sam hadn't. So he tried for Dean. Tried to pretend that everything was fine now that the big bad was taken out. He really did. But it all just got a little too much. In the end he shuts it down and settles for counting houses and street signs.

Dean was having a blast. He could drive like this forever. But he knew his brother, and Sam could be an introspective little fucker sometimes. He could practically hear the gears turning in his brother's brain. Besides, the sun was starting to set anyways. He sighed quietly and decided to start back home. 'Tried' being the key word. After a few minutes he realized he was lost. Of course, that would be the last thing he would tell Sam, so he was able to play it cool for another several minutes. But when he passes the same street for the second time, he could feel Sams' eyes boring into him. 

"So-"

"Are we lost Dean?" Sam cut him off. Surprisingly, he didn't sound angry at all. A little amused maybe.

"No!" Dean blurted out. Which meant yes, yes they were absolutely lost. Sam chuckles and shifts in his seat.

"Pull over," Sam says quietly. Almost like a whisper. Dean sighs, but does so. He put the car in park, but doesn't shut her off, and reaches across to the glove box, pulling out a map. He starts unfolding it as Sam chuckles softly and opens his door. Dean looks up, and follows Sam out of the car after shutting it off. 

"Look." Sam points up to the sky. Dean's breath hitches, which he would never admit to, when he sees the sunset. Dean can't help himself as he looks back tot he Impala, wanting to see the cacophony of color reflected on Baby's shining black frame. 

Of course that would be what Dean cares about, Sam thinks to himself. He's actually glad they got a little lost. Counting things was getting a little tiresome, and although he didn't have the same love of the road that Dean did, he wasn't quite ready to head back to the bunker. He glances over at his brother, and drinks in the sight. The sky casts an orange glow over them, lighting up Dean's eyes to a deep emerald green. The light accentuates the crinkles by his eyes as he smiles at the sight of his Baby. It cards through his hair, reflecting in the gray that inevitably showed up a few years ago. Sam stops himself before he can think the word 'beautiful', because even in the lull of action and the splendor of the sunset, Dean is still his brother who would give him never-ending shit if he somehow figured it out.

Dean feels Sam's eyes on him again, and shifts under the scrutiny. He gives it a second before looking up at his brother. He looked almost ethereal in the light cast from the sunset. Tanned skin turned almost bronze, eyes still shifting between green and hazel. Dean realizes quickly that he doesn't really recognize the man staring at him, and wonders when Sam changed so much. This past year really didn't leave Dean time to ogle at his brother, not that ogling was a normal occurrence. Sam had aged so much just over the last few months leading up to the big showdown. His face was sharp, his body all hard lines, his stubble and hair starting to gray... Dean suddenly felt anger bubble up inside him. Then just disappointment. All these emotions directed at himself. Although he had given up trying to keep Sam from any and all harm, it was still pretty much his life mission to keep his little brother safe. He had failed so many damn times, and this was the result. A man he could hardly recognize. 

Sam watched as Dean studied him. He felt his big brother soak up every part of Sam that he had missed over the years. Every gray hair, every wrinkle, every scar. He would normally feel uncomfortable at Dean's scrutiny, but this was different. Things were different now. He found himself smiling wide, dimples and all. 

There he is, Dean thought. There's my Sammy. He watches as Sam smiles, and finds himself smiling right back. 

"You're okay," Dean says, words spilling from his mouth reverently. "You're okay."

"Yeah. So are you. Dean--" Sam says carefully. His eyes start to water again, but he doesn't blink, not wanting to take his eyes off of his brother.

"Sammy-- Fuck," Dean chokes. He laughs brokenly and steps closer to Sam. 

He reaches out his right hand and grabs the back of Sam's head, digging his thumb into the side of his little brother's neck. Sam gently rests his left and on Dean's hip. Dean brings his left hand up and slings it across Sam's upper back, pulling him down into a hug. Sam wraps his arms around his big brother's torso and slides his hands up and down Dean's back. He squeezes he yes shut as he buries his face in the crook of Dean's neck. Tears run down his face despite his best efforts to conceal them. 

Dean feels his shirt grow wet with Sam's tears, and finds himself tearing up as well. He doesn't let himself go yet. He knows there is a lot more behind the flood gates, between fighting God, Jack leaving... Losing-- Losing Cas. He doesn't feel like letting it all out now. But that's okay. And the fact that he knows he can believe that makes a few tears fall. Right here, with his brother, he can be okay. 

"Dean," Sam whispers into his shoulder, "Dean..."

"Sammy," Dean says back, their age-old call and response, "I got you. It's okay." With those words he feels Sam crumple against him, body shaking with sobs that he tries to hold it. Despite the tears, he feels Sam smile against his skin. 

"Dean... De--" Sam chokes on a sob and lets a laugh burst out of his chest. 

"Sammy," Dean repeats, dragging his thumb back and forth over Sam's neck, feeling his stubble scratch against his skin before pulling back slightly. He tries to escape the hug, but Sam tightens his grip on the back of Dean's jacket.

"Dean," Sam manages to finally grate out, "It's over right? We-- We're really free?"

"Yeah Sammy. Just you and me, okay? Just you and me."

"Okay... Okay." Sam nods and huffs a breath into Dean's neck. "Thank you. For everything."

"C'mon Sammy. No chick-flick moments, remember?" Dean sighs, patting Sam's shoulder blades.

"I deserve a fuckin' chick-flick," Sam mumbles against Dean's shoulder.

"Yeah. Okay. Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam says as he finally pulls away, swatting Dean's arm as they separate. Dean laughs and ruffles Sam's hair. 

"Dude," Sam huffs, wiping his eyes with the heel of his palms, "I'm thirty-seven. You can't be doing that shit."

"What, this?" Dean ruffles Sam's hair again and snatches his hand away before he can get slapped. "It's not my fault you have princess hair."

"You love it," Sam says teasingly. Dean scoffs and shakes his head. Sam smiles and turns back to the sunset. It's almost gone, just a few traces of pink and orange left behind as the sky begins to darken. 

"We are actually lost though, so..." Dean picks up the map and waves it in front of Sam. Sam rolls his eyes, but takes it from his brother's hand. Dean walks back to the driver's side door and slides in. Sam slides into he passenger seat and unfolds the map. He starts his Baby up again and pull out onto he road. He isn't too worried about Sam getting his bearings, after all, he's always had a knack for navigation. 

Sam studies the map for a minute before figuring out where they were. Somehow they ended up only a few miles away from the bunker, despite neither of them knowing where on earth they were. He explains the directions to Dean, also committing them to memory before folding the map back up and stuffing it back into the glove box. He looks back up and notices that the whole world had gone dark in the several minutes that he was navigating. He looks over at Dean, the occasional passing headlights light up his features. Dean notices the staring, like he always does and shoots Sam a sideways glance. Sam smiles and keeps staring. After going and going for so long, Sam is determined to burn every bit of his brother into his mind as he possibly can. Dean glances sideways again and catches Sam smiling.

"Fuckin' weirdo," Dean mumbles as he swats at Sam's shoulder. Sam doesn't say anything, but he catches Dean's wrist as he flails it around, hoping to connect with something. Dean's eyebrows raise when Sam doesn't let his wrist go.

"Sam?"

"Dean-- Sorry," Sam says. He still doesn't let go. "I just need-- Is this okay?" Sam lowers Dean's wrist to the leather seat, but continues to hold on.

"Uh, yeah. It's okay Sammy," Dean says quietly. Sam sighs and shifts against the leather seat. He leans his head against the cool window and smiles. 

It's a little weird. Dean will admit that. Okay, it's super weird. But, it's kinda nice. Dean lets a small smile drift onto his face as he feels Sam's fingers around his wrist. It's reassuring. It let's him know that Sam is there. Sam can feel his heart beat, and Dean can feel Sam's thumb brushing across the top of his hand. They are both here. They are both alive. They are both free... They are both together.

"Almost home, Sammy."


	2. I'd Like To Walk Around In Your Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension between the boys rises as they try to avoid any and all uncomfortable topics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! The title for this chapter is the title of an old song by Vashti Bunyan (I think that's how you spell it?) if anyone was wondering. So yes, I am continuing this fic. I have some good ideas, but just be warned that it sticks very close to cannon! I mean, obviously, excluding the more-than-brotherly feelings... But it will roughly follow the plot of 15x20: Carry On. 
> 
> Anyways, this chapter is still placed before Carry On, so we should be fine so far if you haven't seen it yet. This chapter ran a little short, because I kind of ran out of things I felt needed to be addressed, so, sorry! Also, I suck at proof-reading, so if you see a mistake, and you feel so inclined, I suppose you can shamelessly call me out on it. I hope y'all still enjoy!

The brothers didn't talk about the drive afterwards. I was just one of those things that they had an unspoken agreement about. No chick-flick moments after all. The next couple days bled into weeks, and were used as a sort of wind down time for the boys. Sam threw himself into a high-structure routine, running every morning, cleaning, protein-packed breakfast, the whole nine. Dean did the opposite, reveling in the freedom. He actually ended up going back for the stray dog they had found days ago before their fight with God. Or was it weeks? Anyways, the name Miracle stuck, and Dean made himself head caretaker to the little ball of fur. 

"I thought you hated dogs," Sam commented on the day Dean went back for the mutt. Dean had just come back to the bunker with an armful of wiggly fluffy joy, and was currently playing with it in the kitchen as Sam cooked dinner. 

"No," Dean mumbled defensively, "It was just yours."

"What?" Sam put down the ladle he was using to stir the chili he was making, and leaned back against the burners to the left that were still cold.

"You replaced me with a dog, Sam, how did you expect me to react?" Dean said over his shoulder as he began smothering Miracle in affection. 

"Aren't you doing the same thing?" Sam grumbled, "I mean, Cas--"

"No, nuh-uh. We are not talking about this. Off limits." Dean shut Sam's comment down and stands up, whirling around to face his little brother. Sam throws his hands up, and shrugs. He had tried to have this conversation with Dean a few times aver the past couple days, but Dean just wasn't having it, claiming the topic "off limits" every time. And what's worse was, ever since their little breakdown on the side of the road, Dean became even more closed off to any type of emotional discussion. And, really, Sam wasn't exactly dying to have the discussion either, but he knew it would probably serve both of their psyches well. 

Dean scoffs and walks out of the kitchen, Miracle trailing after him. Sam watched them go, staring at the line of his brothers shoulders. They looked painfully tense, and Sam winced in sympathy. He really wanted to help his brother, but Dean was feeling particularly closed-off today, and Sam had a feeling that if he were to even try to touch him, Dean would probably have another freak-out, much less massage the knots out of his shoulders. Sam huffs a breath, and shakes his head. Dean can be so freaking incompetent sometimes.

______

It's probably a week before they seriously talk again, and oddly enough, Sam is making dinner again. Tension had been building between them, and the random drives Dean was always taking wasn't helping things, especially considering he hadn't tried to ask Sam if he'd like to go. Not even once. Not that he expected anything different after what had happened the week prior, but it still hurt Sam to think about as he closes the oven.

"What's for dinner, bitch?" Dean's voice booms though the doorway, startling Sam for a moment before his eyes land on his brother, poking his head through the doorway, Miracle at his feet.

"Meatloaf," Sam said, intentionally leaving off the 'jerk'. He didn't feel like giving Dean the satisfaction.

"Hm. It's not your weird... turkey... princess shit is it?" Dean fake-gags, then barks a laugh. Sam glares at him and shoves through the doorway, crouching down to pet Miracle. "C'mon man. What's your problem?"

"My problem?" Sam stands up, and backs up a little after realizing how close Dean was standing. "I'm not the one with a problem Dean."

"Wha--" Dean scoffs, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why are you so emotionally constipated? I mean, after forty some-odd years of this shit, I kinda thought you would be able to talk to me." Sam snaps. Dean's face falls and he looks at Sam dead on. 

"Well, after having you as a brother for thirty-seven years, I learned that you need to explode to process things. You need to get it out there. Sorry kid, but I don't work like that. You should know that. I think you do. So go ahead, explode, let it out. You can yell at me, ask me why I'm so fucked up if you need to," Dean steps away from Sam, shrugging. 

"I'm dealing, trust me, but I'm also tired, man. It might take me a while to shake this one off," Dean drops a hand to Miracle's head as the mass of fur rises to it's hind legs to paw at his hip, and smiles fondly. "And you aren't making it any easier on me. Especially when I see your tense-ass shoulders every day." Sam looks over and scoffs.

"What? Don't like my "feelings" speech? You asked for it man--"

"No, no," Sam interrupts, "I was just thinking the same thing about you. You're super tense man." Dean looks confused for a second before breaking into a grin brighter than it's even been in the past month. 

"Aw, Sammy's lookin' out for me, huh?" Dean pushes the dog off of his leg and shifts from foot to foot. 

"Shut up," Sam laughs. "This conversation isn't over, by the way."

"I didn't think so," Dean mumbles. He reaches out and shoves at Sam's arm, spinning him back towards the kitchen. "Go get dinner finished. I'll get the beers. Tonight's a movie night. I finally got the Dean Cave set up again." Dean pranced (yes, pranced, Sam saw it first hand) over to the fridge and pulled out a six-pack. He didn't spare Sam a glance as he left the kitchen, probably already feeling awkward, heaven forbid he show emotion. Sam chuckled, but still felt uneasy. Not about anything in particular, but he just got a sense. The same sense he always felt when his brother held anything back. But, there's nothing he can do right now, so he takes the meatloaf out of the oven, plates it with salad and mashed potatoes, and starts his trek to the Dean Cave.

_______

Okay, so, no matter what Sam says, Dean thinks that drinking an entire six-pack by yourself is not unreasonable. And what was he supposed to do? After all, Sam wasn't having any, and he sure as hell wasn't going ALL the way back to the fridge just to put it away. And so what if he had a little whisky with those beers? Sam could suck it.

"You can suck it," Dean grumbles under his breath as they near the end of the second Star Wars movie. They weren't watching them in any particular order, Dean had just shoved a random disk in and now here they were. Sam wasn't really watching the movie, instead opting for tapping away at his computer. 

"What did you say? I didn't hear you."

"I said, you can suck it," Dean laughed. Sam startles and stares at Dean with wide eyes. 

"Dean, what the actual fuck are you talking about?" Sam sounded a little pissed, but Dean just laughed again. 

"Can't even stomach a beer, little brother?" He teases, moving away from the topic of Sam sucking things.

"Well," Sam huffs, "If you hadn't downed them all before I even finished dinner, maybe I would've. how much did you have to drink anyways?"

"Uh, dude," Dean laughs again, "I don't even know. But I feel... SO good."

"Yeah, I bet," Sam snorts a laugh as he wrinkles his nose at Dean, making him look about five years younger. Dean drinks in the sight, (haha pun) happy to see his little brother acting like a little brother. He wants him to always look like that. A snot-nosed little bitch. Why isn't Sam over next to him anyway? He should be curled up next to Dean, head resting on his shoulder. Why is he so far away dammit?

"Get over here, mother fucker," Dean growls, "Too fuckin' far away..." Dean starts to stand up and walk over to Sam, but Sam is already on his feet, reaching out to steady his big brother. 

"Whoa, easy there man," Sam says softly. "Dude you are so far gone." Dean grunts in agreement and leans against the brick wall that is Sam for support. They eventually make it to Dean's room, and before Sam can lower his brother down, Dean links his arm around Sam's next and leans close to his ear.

"Thanks Sammy," Dean whispers, very loudly, mind you, into Sam's ear. Sam cringes away at the volume, but pats Dean's back lightly.

"Yeah, yeah, anything for my brother," Sam says sarcastically. Dean doesn't seem to take it that way however and looks down at his feet, trying to hide the shimmer in his eyes. When he finally looks back at Sam, he leans in to press a sloppy kiss to his little brother's cheek, not completely aware for what he was doing. He feels Sam go deathly still and immediately regrets what he did. 

"Well, Sammy, thanks for the lift. I'm going to bed now, of you don't mind." Dean throws himself onto his bed, and hears Sam wince at the audible crack of the bed frame. He rolls over and buries his face in the pillows, feeling the burn of blush creep up his cheeks. Did he really just kiss his brother? Well, it was on the cheek, and that didn't count, right? It was just a gratitude thing. It wasn't like Sammy being all girly and wanting to hold his fucking hand the other day. His head started spinning with thoughts until they all jumbled into a white noise in his head. Whatever. He can think in the morning.

Dean fell asleep within a minute and Sam stood at the foot of his brother's bed. Normally Dean got a little weird when he was drunk. A little handsy... Well, it didn't matter. Dean never remembers it in the morning anyways, as much as Sam wishes he would. After the drive they took, Sam had found himself constantly craving his brother's touch. Being allowed to hold on to Dean the whole way home had awakened a new need in Sam that he was frankly a little scared of. He always knew there was something between them. Something that normal brothers didn't share... But then again, since when were the Winchester boys any sort of normal? Anyway, it was fine. Sam could deal with it; had been for a while now. After all, if he mentioned anything to Dean, he would probably flip. After all, Sam had tried mentioning how painfully in love Cas was with Dean several months ago, and that conversation got shut down scarily fast. Imagine how Dean would react to his own brother... 

Sam sighs and shakes his head. He's being unrealistic anyways. Dean couldn't really deal with emotion of any kind, so Sam made a silent vow to keep this secret under wraps. He smiles fondly at his brother's sleeping form, shaking the weird feeling, and leaving his brother to sleep.


	3. To Build A Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have a chill morning, at talk about some things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus... What a week. I've been doing school, but I made it a goal to get this up before finals. Thank you to everybody who has shown support, it's actually incredible to see people are enjoying it so far! I hope you continue to enjoy it!

"Oof!" Dean awakes with a grunt when he feels a weight land heavily on his chest. He immediately goes for his gun, but quickly stops himself when he realizes who it is.

"Oh, Miracle," Dean laughs, voice still gravelly from sleep, "Hey buddy." 

"Dean?" Sam's voice floats through the hall, and in a few moments he's standing at Dean's door. 

"Mornin' Sammy," Dean takes a huge yawn, "Ever heard of privacy?"

"Dude, your door is wide open."

"Don't sass me." 

"Whatever. You need to get up. It's almost noon," Sam lets himself in and tries to clean up his brother's room. It's not that it's that dirty, Dean is actually a pretty clean guy, it's just... A little messy, is all.

"okay,  _ mom _ ," Dean grumbles, tossing off his blanket, only to snatch it back over himself when he realized he was only wearing boxers, wincing as his head pounds. Right... Hangover. He looks over to Sam, who gives him a questioning bitch face. Dean raises an eyebrow.

"Don't look at me. You probably changed after I was done putting your drunk ass to bed," Sam says sternly.

"How do I know you didn't take advantage of me?" Dean jokes with a grin. Sam's teasing smile turns quickly into bitch face number four (the, 'are you twelve?' face), and he scoffs, slapping Deans blanket-clad leg.

"Dean. Get up." Sam leaves the room, Miracle trailing after him. Dean sighs and shakes his head, getting out of bed and plodding a few seconds behind Sam. He grumbles as he watches his little brother walk to the kitchen, taking the other hall and heading towards the bathroom. The least he could do is get decent. 

Dean strips and turns the shower head on to full blast as hot as it would go. He stands by the flow, shivering violently. Ever since they got rid of Mrs. Butters, they bunker went back to the state it had been in before. They had managed to fix almost everything, but the heat was still a little finicky, and Dean decided it was one of those days that it had chosen to crap out. Thank god the hot water was still working at least. Dean steps into the stream of steaming water. It nearly burns his skin, but he revels in it; the heat burning away at the bone-deep ache he gets when he's cold overnight. It starts to melt away at his hangover-induced headache as well.

After appreciating the heat for a bit, he finally gets to the task at hand and showers with the military precision that had been nailed into him since he was a child. As he cranks off the water, he starts to shiver again. He curses under his breath and snatches the towel from the towel bar, rubbing his skin pink in a desperate attempt to get all the quickly cooling water off. He had always been picky about getting fully dry before putting clothes on. Sam never seemed to have an issue with it, but it was one of those things that Dean couldn't stand. Clothes sticking to still-wet skin... Gross. Sam on the other hand, when rushed, would get straight out of the shower and right into his clothes sometimes; normally eliciting a shudder from Dean. Although, nowadays he parades around in a towel for a while before patting his hair dry and shrugging into his clothes for the day. Not that Dean watches him get ready, they have just lived in each other's pockets for so long. At least, that's what Dean tells himself as he wraps his robe around his already shivering form.

"Sammy! We need to fix the damn heat again!" He yells as he steps out of the bathroom. He heads for the kitchen when he hears Sam's amused laugh ringing from there.

"What, can't handle a little chill?" Sam sneers as Dean shuffles into the kitchen. 

"Fuck no. I'm moving to Florida, I swear," Dean sighs as he steps into the heat of the kitchen. Normally the kitchen stays pretty cold, even when the heater is working, but Sam has the oven open and on, spilling heat into the frigid air.

"No, you won't," Sam says smugly.

"Oh yeah? Why not?"

"Cause then you'd miss out on 'Sammy's Hangover Breakfast Extravaganza'!" Sam exclaims with a flourish of his hand. He motions to the several pans on the stove; eggs, bacon, pancakes... Yum.

"Aw, you spoil me little brother," Dean sighs in appreciation.

"Yeah, I do, ass-hat," Sam says with a smirk, "It'd be nice to have the favor returned."

"Hey, you love my Sammy burgers."

"Whatever," Sam laughs. Dean's 'Sammy burgers' are basically just plain burgers, but... Extra. Dean piles Sam's burgers with lettuce and tomatoes and whatever other veggies he finds in the fridge that day. Sam actually thinks they are delicious, but would never say that straight to his face. And although they are good, Sam has been eating burgers all his life, and eating anything that often makes it less than spectacular.

"It's your turn to make dinner tonight by the way," Sam reminds his brother, pointing the spatula at him. "And not burgers, please?"

"Why not burgers?"

"Because we always have burgers. And I know you can cook. You should put that skill to use."

"Yeah, okay," Dean sighs as Sam dishes up. He hands a full plate of breakfast makings to his brother. He quickly digs in, unaware of the fond look on Sam's face. 

"Oh, by the way," Dean begins between bites, "You found a hunt yet?"

"Nah," Sam shrugs as he sits next to Dean, setting his plate in front of himself. "There may have been a ghost in Vermont, but it looks a little... Not real."

"Well, we've gone off of less--"

"No, no. It's not even... I mean, there is no way it's a real haunting. Really." Sam tucks into his food and Dean side-eyes him. He squints at his little brother, trying to figure out what he's playing at.

"What?" Sam huffs when he catches Dean staring.

"Nothing," Dean lies nonchalantly. He takes another bite and pauses before speaking again. "You hear anything from Jody? Or-- or Garth? Anyone?"

"Uh, yeah, actually," Sam pushes his still mostly-full plate away and turns to Dean, "Donna called."

"... Oh yeah?"

"Yep."

"You wanna elaborate?" 

"You know," Sam turns away again, " _ You  _ could call her. I'm sure she'd love to hear from you. I mean, all she knows is that we're still alive. Jody too."

Dean watches as his little brother picks at his marginally smaller portion of breakfast on his plate. He had no clue what was up with Sam. He had been PMS-ing ever since they iced Chuck, and it's not like Dean wasn't grieving their losses, not at all. He would probably get alcohol poisoning before he ever gets over Cas, but he was dealing with it. Sam on the other hand, had been having crazy ups and downs almost constantly, and if Dean wasn't so used to his brother being a bitch, he would feel like he was walking on eggshells around him. 

"Okay, what is your problem man?" Dean finally blurts out. Sam whips around to look at him, and raises an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"I  _ mean,  _ why are you being such a girl? Well, more so than usual?"

"Dean," Sam laughs, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The mood swings, for one; you're practically a pendulum. You don't seem to want to hunt, you haven't left the bunker since our drive, and by the way, what the fuck was that drive? You've been so touchy feel-y, and don't even get me started on the cooking! I mean, you hate cooking!" 

Dean heaves a breath when he finally stops talking, and stares at Sam waiting for a response. But Sam just sits there, eyebrows knit in confusion while a faint blush creeps up his cheeks. 

"Just talk to me, Sammy," Dean pleads. Sam stays stunned for a beat, then scoffs.

"No chick flick moments, right?" Sam stands up and snatches his plate from the table. He strides across the kitchen and dumps the rest of his breakfast into Miracle's new food bowl before turning on the faucet over the huge basin they call a sink. 

"Dude, you aren't even eating!"

"Jesus Dean... You aren't my mom. Leave me alone." Sam finishes washing his plate and turns around to leave, but runs into Dean. He had pushed his plate away and stood up behind Sam. 

"Actually, I kind of am. So, no, Sam, I'm not gonna leave you alone. That's not what we do, got it?"

"Dean stop."

"No Sam, something is bugging you, so spill." Dean crowds Sam up against the sink.

"Dude, seriously--" Sam tries to push him away.

"Sam."

"I wanna quit hunting." Sam mumbles, turning his head away. Dean scans the side of his brother's face until he realizes how close they are. Probably less than a foot. He slinks back and watches Sam until he turns to face Dean again. Sam's expression has shame written all over it, and when he catches Dean's hurt eyes, he looks away again.

"You-- You what?" Dean quietly questions. 

"It's not you, Dean. I'm just... I'm so tired of-- of this. And now we're free. we can do whatever we want. I mean, we can have... Hell, we can have jobs! And a house, and friends-- normal friends..." Sam trails off, and takes in Dean's face. He doesn't look upset, maybe a little confused. 

"Is that what you want Sammy?"

"Well," Sam hesitates, wondering what the right answer is. "I think so, I mean, yeah. Don't you? Don't you want that too?"

"I, uh," Dean runs one hand over his face and pouts his lips before running his tongue over his bottom one. "I can't really do anything. I don't wanna be a fucking waitress," He laughs shakily, but honestly. 

"Dean," Sam laughs and his eyes brighten, shame and fear of disappointment falling away, making him look about twenty years younger. "You are so stupid. You can do so many things. I mean, I can think of a bunch of things off the top of my head you would be more than qualified for."

"Easy for you to say, college boy. You could just get a degree and do anything."

"Dean, you are smart. You could go to college too!" 

"No way, not my crowd," Dean turns away and picks up his plate, feeding the scraps to Miracle. Sam can see the slump to his brothers shoulders as he turns around. He hunches down beside him on the floor by Miracle and puts a hand on his back.

"Well then do something else! I mean, what about private security? Or a mechanic? I mean, you could practically use Baby as your resume!" Dean snaps to attention at the mention of Baby, and startles at how close Sam has crowded in. He quickly looks away, not wanting his face inches from Sam's, and sets his plate on the ground. He pitches backwards and folds into a cross-legged position on the ground, smiling as he remembers the way Sam still sometimes will call it 'crisscross-applesauce'. 

"What about you? I mean, would college still be in the cards?"

"Maybe," Sam shrugs, "But that's the thing, we have been forging things all our lives; I think a degree would be pretty easy. I wouldn't have to go to college."

"Uh, yeah. I, uh..." Dean puts his head in his hands to hide the smile that wants to explode over his face and paint his features. It is a great idea, it really is, but he doesn't know if he could do it. The way he has been living his whole life, could he really do the whole picket fence and 2.5 kids thing? No, probably not. Neither could Sam if he were honest with himself. They were both too messed up. Too damaged. But, it could just be them. Sam and Dean, the way it's always been. Just, instead of hunting monsters, it would be worrying who would pay the next electric bill. They would live together, right? Girlfriends or wives would kinda be out of the question then. But, Dean does want kids. Sam would be a great dad too...

What the fuck?

Dean snaps out of his thoughts as he feels Sam shift next to him. He watches as Sam contorts his freakishly long limbs into position to sprawl out on the floor beside Dean. It takes Dean a few seconds to realize that Sam was talking.

"... You would be a mechanic, I could teach, or something. I would make breakfast every morning, and when I get home from work you'll be making dinner, probably at the grill," Sam snickers, "We don't have to move, we could just stay here. Together. We don't have to worry about dying every day... Fuck, we could make wills."

Dean and Sam both let out a laugh at that thought. Dean looks down at his little brother, lying on the floor, tangling his fingers in Miracle's fur. His smile is wide and bright, showing off his dimples as his hair falls away from his face and onto the floor. Dean sighs and reaches over to flick Sam's nose. Sam yelps and turns away, swatting Dean's robe-covered knee as he chuckles. 

"Yeah, Sammy. I think I'd like that."


	4. Air For Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH FINALS ARE ALMOST DONEEE!!! I only have one exam left, and it's for my psychology class, but after that, I'll be done until January, so hopefully I'll be able to update more frequently. I wanted to have a posting schedule, but I'm almost done now, so there wouldn't really be much of a point. I am aiming to finish this fic fairly soon, because I have another idea I'm dying to work on that takes place during the finale.  
> So, this chapter is a little longer than the last ones I think... It was originally a lot longer, but I edited out a lot of stuff that I felt just didn't really fit with how the boys would act. Unfortunately, I may have edited it a bit too much, because it feels a bit choppy... Oh well! Also, we get a little insight into why Sam has been acting the way he has, because, as we know, he is normally the cool and collected one. Please enjoy!
> 
> (By the way, the chapter title is a song by Relient K!)

________

It was a few days later that Sam found it. He was cleaning Dean's room because it had gotten a little out of hand. Normally Dean stayed pretty on top of it, keeping things clean, but the past few days had been reading through hundreds of maintenance books and even more trips to the hardware store, as they were trying to fix the heating system. It was fine, and they were living with it, but then the water heater stopped working, so Dean finally got to it. Now that he thinks about it, Sam supposes that at least one of those trips could've been used to get this… He holds the job application with care, as if it might just shatter in his hands. Or burst into flames. Either one. 

Frankly, Sam hadn’t applied anywhere yet, he was still trying to figure out exactly what it is he would be willing to do. The idea of being a teacher was definitely appealing, but it was then a question of what he would teach. College level mythology and religion would be the logical choice, but something told him NCK Tech wasn’t big on religion. There was a local high school in Lebanon, but the two brothers already had a bit of a negative reputation in their town. Although, maybe becoming an English teacher would make him more respectable? They could always move if they truly wanted a fresh start, but they really didn’t want to leave the bunker, even though it would probably be better put to use by other hunters. But it was their home now. And Sam didn’t want to abandon ‘the life’ altogether, neither did Dean. They still wanted to be available in case anyone needs help on a hunt, or to scrounge up some lore. Dean is still insisting on going on ‘one last hunt’, and Sam keeps reassuring him that they aren’t going to permanently stop hunting. That doesn’t stop Dean from searching for another hunt. One last hurrah, as he puts it. 

Sam turns his attention back to the job application and reads the printed black ink pages. It looks like it’s for a mechanic position at the little auto shop in town. Sam’s heart swells as he scans his brother’s responses in his messy handwriting scrawled across the pages. He can’t help but chuckle at the thought of him and Dean living domestic lives. The fact that Dean even agreed to it was still something Sam was trying to wrap his head around. But really, the more he thought about it, it did make sense, Dean wanting a life. He always had, no matter how well he hid it; no matter how many times he said that his only wish was for Sam to get out. Sam smiled as he set the folder full of paper back onto Dean’s nightstand, continuing to tidy up the rest of the room, eyes lingering over the folder every so often. 

Mostly he was cleaning the numerous whiskey and beer bottles. Dean was doing a lot better now that he had a goal, but it was still rare to see him go to bed without at least a half of a fifth of whiskey in his system. Although, Sam wasn’t exactly one to judge, as he would be the one to join his brother most nights. He gathers up the bottles and moves on to the clothes scattered about. It is mostly just t-shirts and boxers strewn over the floor between the bed and the dresser. All his dirty jeans and flannels were in the laundry basket Sam had put in Dean’s room a few weeks into living in the bunker. He picked up a single black t-shirt, giving it a quick sniff to see if it was clean. Sam felt heat rising on his face as he pressed the shirt to his face, taking another inhale. Sam found himself constantly wanting to be near his brother. Which, in all honesty, wasn’t that unusual for him. He supposes that it’s just easier to see now that they aren’t holding off an apocalypse. He finds himself missing Dean. All the time. Even now, when his brother just took a quick trip to the store. Well, not really ‘quick’, he’s been gone for quite a while.

_ What if he’s hurt? He isn’t back yet, maybe he ran into trouble... _

He manages to quell his panic attack before it becomes too strong. Sam has found himself a lot more prone to them lately as well. Of course, he hasn’t mentioned it to Dean. It’s probably because their forward momentum that has ruled their lives since Sam was six months old has finally let up. They both have the time now to feel their feelings, whether they want to or not. For Dean that means drinking himself to sleep every night. For Sam, unfortunately, those feelings and trauma manifests themselves as constant anxiety and panic attacks. His brother just assumed he was moody, but in truth, he was desperately trying to hide when he was being cripled by the looming weight of it. And when the anxiety lets up, he’s left with a deep emptiness that can only seem to be filled with his brother's smile; albeit temporarily. 

Sam lifts his face from the fabric after hearing the dog barking. Miracle only really barks when Dean comes home, so Sam quickly shoves the shirt into the hamper, discarding any and all evidence of his weird obsession with knowing Dean is alive and safe. They’ve been hunted pretty much their entire lives, why is he being so protective now? Dean was always the one obsessed with keeping his brother safe, Sam never really was, until recently. He plasters a smile onto his face as he walks out into the main room, but his grin becomes more honest when Dean comes into his view. In the time that Sam was walking over, Dean had already calmed the fluffy beast and was now petting him with vigor. 

“Awww, who’s a good boy?” Dean gushes to Miracle. Dean looks up at spots Sam, his grin growing wider as he does so. He stands up, gently pushing Miracle’s wiggling body away, and strides towards Sam, plastic bags adorning his arms. 

“Alright, Sammy. I think I figured it out,” Dean exclaims as he sets the bags down on the table closest to Sam. 

“Figured what out?” Sam clears his throat after speaking, surprised at the wrecked sound to his voice.

“The heater, man.” Dean eyes his little brother, but decides not to comment on the way his voice sounds.

“Oh, really?” Sam feigns surprise. He knew Dean would figure it out sooner or later. Because, no matter what he himself may think, Dean is incredibly intelligent, and figuring out solutions to problems is definitely one of his fortes. 

“Yeah, so turns out, the problem wasn’t with the filters at all. So naturally my next thought would be the fuses, but we already saw that those are in tip-top condition so…” Dean continues talking about the heating system, most of it going completely over Sam’s head. All he could think about was how far away his brother seemed from across the table, and Sam found himself inching closer to Dean, pretending to look at all the things he had bought from the store. Every so often Dean would hold up a piece of hardware and point to it, explaining what he was going to do with it, and Sam would nod and hum in agreement to whatever he was trying to explain. 

“Sammy? Are you there?” Dean asks when he realized that Sam wasn’t listening.

“What? Yeah, yeah.”

“You don’t have to pretend like this is interesting to you, ya know,” Dean chuckles as he puts his items back into the plastic bag. 

“Sorry man,” Sam sighs as Dean steps away, “I’m just tired I guess.”

“Then sleep,” Dean shrugs.

“Nah, I got stuff to do.”

“Oh yeah? What stuff?”

“I--” Sam pauses, trying to think of something to do, “I wanna clean the kitchen.”

“Dude,” Dean gives Sam a look and shakes his head, “You’ve cleaned everything, like, multiple times. I think you can sleep for--”

“I can’t,” Sam interrupts. Dean looks worried for a second, but smiles sadly when he realizes what Sam was trying to say.

“Then medicate,” Dean grabs a whiskey bottle off of the table (there tend to be several lying around for easy access) and hands it to Sam, wiggling his eyebrows. Sam huffs a laugh and pushes it away.

“It’s not even two pm yet, Dean,” Sam reminds him. Dean shrugs again and twists the cap off with expertise and takes a swig. He lets out a dramatic sigh and smiles, winking at Sam who can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. Dean thrusts the bottle to Sam, and shakes it around, urging him to take it. Sam rolls his eyes, but ends up accepting the bottle and taking a generous swallow. Dean smiles and nods in approval.

“That’s my boy,” Dean drawls and he takes the bottle back, taking another long pull. He hands it back to Sam and gathers his hardware bags up. “Hey. Don’t get too crunk, little brother. You gotta help me fix this bitch, got it?” Sam laughs as he takes his last few drinks. He was always a bit more of a lightweight than Dean when it came to drinking, but he was surprised to find himself a little buzzed as he screwed the cap back onto the bottle and set it back down. A lazy smile settled onto his face as he trailed after his brother, alcohol muting the constant nervous energy thrumming beneath his skin. Every worry seems to fall away beneath the buzz of alcohol and the feeling of having his brother within touching distance.

Everything was okay.

________

Everything was  _ not  _ okay. Dean tried to fix the heater, which inevitably failed (Dean was handy, but apparently not  _ that  _ handy), and something was now on fire. Sam couldn’t tell what, but smoke was pouring out of the heater system and something smelled like burning hair. Dean was laughing and cursing up a storm as he tried to put out the fire. Sam had run to get a blanket to hopefully suffocate the flames, and as he ran back, comforter in hand, Dean was sticking his hand into the vent that the smoke was leaking out of.

“ _ Dean!  _ What the  _ fuck _ do you think you’re doing?” Sam yells as he yanks his brother away from the heater. Dean gets spooked and jumps, banging his head on the edge of the vent. He lets out a yelp, then curses and starts laughing again as Sam grabs the blanket and falls to his knees, trying to put out the flames that started slowly licking their way out of the vent. 

“Why are you laughing?” Sam huffs as the flames recede. Sam was quickly sobered up at the prospect of the only home they’ve ever really had burning to the ground, and was a little pissed at his brother for finding so much joy in the fact. 

“Y-you were all, ‘you s-smell something funny?’ a-and your-- your fuckin’ face man,” Dean stutters out between guffaws, “When it started smokin’... The look on your face--” 

“Jesus christ, Dean,” Sam glares at him, but can’t help letting out a little laugh. When Dean started laughing, he couldn’t hold it in, no matter how pissed he was. He collapses back onto his heels, assuming a sitting position, and holds the flame-warmed blanket in his lap. “You almost burnt the bunker down.”

“But I didn’t!” Dean exclaims, pumping a fist into the air. While he was having his laughing fit, he ended up sprawled across the concrete floor, holding his stomach. He slowly rolled over and pushed himself back to his feet, only to walk over to Sam and get right back onto the floor. He crouches down and steadies himself with a hand on Sam’s back, leaning right back towards the vent. He searches the scorched walls of the metal duct, and sighs, dropping his head to Sam’s shoulder. Sam relaxed into his brother’s space and scanned Dean for injuries. He looked fine, but the spot on his forehead where he hit his head was already bruising. 

“We might have to call someone, man,” Sam suggests. They were both still wary of anyone coming to the bunker, but burning down the whole place would probably be more trouble than some random maintenance man knowing their location. 

“Yeah… probably.” Dean mumbles in defeat. He sighs and pats Sam on the back before standing up. He holds out his hand and helps his little brother to his feet as well. “You know what that means research boy. You look for someone in our area that we can afford. And accepts cash.” Sam grunts in acknowledgement and follows Dean out of the maintenance room until they end up in the kitchen.

Dean opens the fridge and starts rummaging around. Ever since their conversation about not hunting anymore, Dean has taken it upon himself to cook dinner almost every night. Sam usually cooks breakfast, but not nearly as often as Dean cooks. Sam smiles to himself and sets off to grab his computer, going into research mode. He was glad that he had something to do, even if it was just finding a maintenance company. Sam saunters back to the kitchen to find his brother putzing around, sorting things out on the counter to make what looks to be chili. Or maybe tacos? Really it’s too early to tell, and Sam doesn’t bother asking. He takes his seat at the table and sets his laptop down, opening it to find a brand new web-page already up and ready for research. He smiles at his own foresight and hunkers down, ready to settle into his element.

________

He only makes it through the first few company’s websites before the clanging begins. Now, it’s no secret that Dean is loud, although normally it’s because he wants attention. He can be incredibly quiet, almost eerily so, when he needs to.  _ However,  _ when he is cooking… That’s when it gets bad. Sam supposes it’s because he feels safe enough to make a bunch of noise, which almost makes him accept it and shut up about it. Almost. 

“Dude,” Sam huffs, pushing his computer away, “You said you wanted me to do research.”

“Yeah,” Dean pops out from behind a counter that holds culinary instruments Sam couldn’t even name and runs his hand through his hair (which is getting long, Sam notes), “And?”

“ _ And,  _ do you have to be so loud?” Sam asks. Dean shrugs and duck back down, not bothering to even try and muffle the clang of metal on metal. 

“You want attention or something?” Sam questions tiredly. 

“Tch,” Dean scoffs as he pops up again, “ _ No. _ ” He ducks back down long enough to grab a large saucepan. Sam sighs and slides his laptop back in front of himself, waiting a beat until Dean speaks again.

“I might need a sous chef though,” Dean mumbles, facing away.

“Alright, Chef de Cuisine,” Sam taunts, shutting the laptop and standing at attention.

“No, no, I’m the Executive Chef.”

“Oh yeah? Don’t you do most of the cooking? Wouldn’t that technically make you Chef de Partie?”

“I guess, but you would be below me in the chain of command. How do you feel about dish-washing, Escuelerie Sammy?” Dean throws the dish towel at Sam, how expertly catches it against his chest. 

“What happened to me being Commis Chef?” Sam asks snarkily. When they were kids they had learned all the terms in the Kitchen Hierarchy, and settled for dad being Executive Chef and Chef de Cuisine, while Dean was Chef de Partie and the Sous Chef. Sam was always Commis, or junior, chef. Much to his dismay. Sometimes if Sam felt like pissing Dean off, he would call him the Patissier, which is technically part of the Chef de Partie's duties, but still succeeded in pissing off his older brother.

“You’ve been demoted, bitch,” Dean turns to an onion and starts peeling it. “Unless you wanna be the Kitchen Porter.”

“Well, that's still better than dish-washing, jerk,” Sam replies, tossing the towel back at Dean, who didn’t bother to catch it, letting it fall to the floor. “What do you need me to do?”

“Well, we’re having soft tacos, so get out the shit we need. Start heating up the pan.”

“Aye-aye, chef.” Sam saluted and maneuvered around his brother to the stove. The cook in silence for a bit, dancing around each other flawlessly because of how used to the other’s presence they are. But really, Sam mostly just watches Dean move around the kitchen as if he had moved through it thousands of times before. He chops, slices, spins, and gathers. Dean eventually takes the onions, mushrooms, and bell peppers he had diced and dumps them into the scorching hot pan. Sam reaches for the oil, but Dean swats his hand and gives him a glare.

“What?”

“Sam, come on, you gotta let ‘em dry out a little before you add the oil, I told you this,” Dean sighs. Sam can’t help but let out a laugh before quickly apologizing (because it was true, Dean had told him this several times). He still was struck by surprise to find how picky Dean was when he was cooking, considering the guy would eat almost anything you put in front of him. 

They danced around each other through the kitchen. Sam was mostly in charge of prepping stuff and watching the pots on the stove. Dean was in charge of seasoning and pretty much everything else. Sam wasn’t bad at cooking in any way, he had to learn how to prepare things for himself since he was four. But Dean had been cooking longer. Sam recalls that he almost always had a meal when he got home from whatever school he was attending at the time, no matter how little sustenance they had left. One time Dean had made spaghetti with nothing but ketchup, penne noodles, and the spices they had in the cabinet. He also made garlic bread with the stale white loaf they had, and Sam ate almost half of the whole thing. That’s not to say that they never went hungry. They went hungry a lot, but Dean would usually give whatever food they had to Sam, using the excuse: ‘it’s okay, I can smoke cigarettes to stave it off, you can’t. You’re too young’. And that was that. Sam is still a little bitter about the days that Dean would starve himself to feed his useless little brother.

“So,” Dean began. Sam knew that tone. It was the ‘we need to talk, but I don’t wanna talk, so we are gonna talk about something else until whatever we need to talk about just happens to come up’ voice.

“Yeah?” Sam asked, preparing for whatever this conversation was going to turn into, “What’s up?”

“You found any-- uh, anyone that can fix our heater?”

“Well, I compiled a list of people we could talk to. Most of them are small businesses because I know you don’t trust big corporations. I’m sorting them by price and customer ratings so--”

“Okay, nevermind. Got it, nerd boy.” Dean sighs, feigning annoyance but unable to keep the smirk off his face. Dean cuts him off whenever he talks about something boring, even if Sam gives  _ him  _ grace when he’s bored by Dean’s lectures. 

“Why are you so mean?” Sam asks. As soon as the words leave his mouth he instantly regrets it, sounding about ten years old again. Dean whips his head around, grinning like a maniac.

“Aw, poor wittle Sammy,” Dean pouts, “Is big bwother being too mean to you?”

“Jesus christ, Dean,” Sam snaps as he slams the spatula he was stirring the beef with onto the counter. He really didn’t mean to get mad, it just sort of happened. Dean is the last person he ever wanted to push away. Especially now. 

“Whoa, okay. Sorry man,” Dean quickly backs off. He normally knows when he’s going too far. Normally. “I didn’t know you were PMS-ing today.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asks. He really did want to know, but his ‘annoying little brother’ voice was quickly settling in place and he couldn’t keep the bite out of his words. Dean looks a little taken aback by the sudden change of mood in Sam, and searches his face for any clues of what he’s supposed to say.

“Uh, nothing man. Just… Are you sure you’re good?” Dean questions softly, keeping his voice low and steady. It was a trick he used when Sam went through his moody phase (which, according to Dean, never really ended) that normally kept Sam calm and collected. There was something incredibly soothing about the voice that had sung him lullabies since he was born, even if the lullabies had turned into quiet late night car ride karaoke. 

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles. “I don’t know what’s up with me lately.”

“It’s okay Sammy. It’s been a long day, I guess. Let’s get some food in you, yeah?” Dean places a reassuring hand on his baby brother’s shoulder and digs his thumb into his collar bone. Dean leans in until he catches Sam’s eye, and finally nods and lets go after Sam hums an affirmative. He lets go and lets his hand fall down Sam’s arm as he draws away with a quick squeeze to his bicep. Sam tries to ignore the urge to grab Dean and pull him into an embrace, because he knows that, one, it would freak Dean right the fuck out, and two, he would probably never be able to let go. 

Sam decides he should stop reminiscing on the past. It does weird things to his brain.

________

They eat quietly, minus the constant porn-star esque moaning coming from Dean every third bite or so. Sam refrains from commenting on the job application he found in Dean’s room earlier, not wanting to break the precious bubble of hope he had built around them both living normally. Or, at least, next to normal. He finds himself daydreaming about living in a house with a little white picket fence that Dean built all by himself, growing old with his brother on the porch that they would actually own. Sam doesn’t realize he’s smiling till he catches Dean smiling back.

“See?” Dean comments, “I told you that you just needed some food in that gigantor body of yours.”

“Hm? No, I was just thinking,” Sam replies before quickly adding, “Oh, but yeah, the food is incredible. Thanks for dinner, Dean.”

“No problem.” Dean tips his beer back and takes a few swallows before staring Sam down. “So are we gonna have to have a heart to heart about whatever’s going on with you? Because I know I call you a girl all the time, but this is getting ridiculous.”

“What-- No, I’m fine. Just… Trying to get used to it, I guess.”

“Uh… Used to what?”

“Well, being-- having freedom, trying to be normal, y’know?”

“Sam,” Dean chuckles and leans back in his chair, “ _ You?  _ You were practically made for normal. I should be the one having a hard time adjusting here.”

“Are you?”

“What?”

“Having a hard time adjusting?”

“I--” Dean pauses, and Sam can see the subtle confusion flit across his brother's face. “Why does that matter? I mean, I’m great. I guess. I got you, alcohol, and dinner, what’s more to want?” Sam watches Dean sadly, realizing that his brother doesn’t even know how good they could have it. Dean doesn’t know what he wants because he doesn’t know how to want things other than safety and sustenance. So Sam doesn’t bother replying to Dean’s question, and instead opts to take a long pull from his beer, which suddenly tastes way worse than usual. He takes a deep breath and looks back to Dean.

“Do you want to keep hunting?” Sam asks quietly. He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he expected from Dean, but it certainly wasn’t silence. He shifts in his chair as he watches Dean get his thoughts together.

“What do you want me to say?” Dean finally chokes out. 

“Say what you’re thinking!” Sam blurts out, “I want to know what you want!” Sam regrets raising his voice, and sees Dean building back up his walls the instant he does so. Sam slouches down in his seat, desperately trying to undo the damage by making himself look smaller. Dean notices and takes a deep breath, letting out a huff that would’ve passed as a laugh under different circumstances. 

“Listen Sam, for the longest time, I didn’t want to be hunting when I’m seventy, you know? But that was just something I said, because I knew I wouldn’t be. I knew I would be dead long before that. But... Now there's the prospect that we could very well live till we’re in a nursing home, so I’m not sure. I don’t think I want to go out, laying crippled in a hospital bed. But, on the other hand, I do want a different life. For you, mostly, but I think I could do it. And-- and we’ve lost so many… So  _ many people,  _ Sam. And it still hurts, bad. I don’t think it’ll ever stop hurting. I don’t know if I can just drop it all, after what we’ve been through. So, no, I don’t want to stop hunting, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to do… This. Does that make sense?” 

Sam felt his eyes burning as he nodded vigorously while looking down at the table, unable to meet Dean’s eyes. Finally hearing Dean’s thoughts on the matter felt like someone just took the ten-pound weights off his shoulders that he didn’t even know were there. He felt very similarly to Dean as well. They had been through too much, lost too much, to just drop it all. He looks back up to see Dean’s eyes watering as well. He smiles and chokes a laugh as he scrubs his face with his hand.

“Sorry,” He apologizes to Dean as he wipes the tears that are threatening to spill. “I just… I’m so happy. For the first time in a while. And I know that’s stupid, but… I don't know. Thank you, I guess.” Dean stands up quickly, turning away from Sam, who is taken aback until he sees Dean’s shoulders trembling. Sam gets up as well and slowly pushes on his arm to get him to turn around. Dean turns around finally, after managing to reign in all his emotions that were desperately wanting to show themselves, and yanks Sam into a hug. Sam can tell it’s a little forced, but he’s content to be held by Dean anyways.

“I’m glad you’re happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, man,” Dean whispers to Sam as he pulls away. He puts his palm against Sam’s neck, eyebrows raised, asking for understanding. He lets go when Sam nods his head shakily and leaves him with a pat to the cheek.

“Now help me clean up these dishes, bitch. We’ve had enough chick-flick moments to last us a few years, and I did all the cooking, so I’m sure you wouldn’t mind.”

“Right,” Sam croaks as he starts placing dishes in the sink. He agrees with Dean, way too many emotional moments lately. It was making Sam feel things he thought he had repressed decades ago. Although, he supposes that when you stop God from destroying the world, a few things are bound to come spilling out, so he doesn’t worry too much about it, and starts in on the dishes that he has piled up in the sink, a content smile making a home on his face.


	5. 33 "GOD"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys start to see something that had always been there, but they might not be ready for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Yes, I know I was supposed to update over the weekend. Unfortunately, I had a lot of stuff going on and I never really got to it, and then as I was editing I ended up deleting the whole thing and trying to rewrite the chapter, so that's why it's short and a little forced. I'm still not 100% happy with it, but I needed to update! So, anyways, I hope ya'll enjoy it! And thank you for reading even though I suck at updating, haha! 
> 
> (Title is a song called 33 "GOD" by Bon Iver.)

Okay, so Dean is a little freaked. Sam has been acting like he’s fifteen years old all over again for the past week, and it’s starting to grate on Dean’s nerves a little bit. There are times when Sam seems completely fine, like when they went to the pie festival Dean had begged for them to attend. Sam sure seemed to enjoy pie-ing Dean in the face. But it’s the little things. He always tries to bring up Jack and Cas, and frankly Dean  _ really  _ doesn’t want to talk about it, so he just kind of shuts the conversation down or pretends like everything is okay. Sam has a little bit of a harder time doing that. And Dean doesn’t even want to get started on their car rides. The drive to Akron for the Pie Fest was a nightmare. Sam was silent and moody most of the time, only breaking the silence to shush Dean’s singing so he could read his book. The drive back home was much more lighthearted, but Sam was constantly shifting around and looked really uncomfortable. Sure, the kid has got some issues, and maybe it’s good that he’s finally dealing with them now that they’ve caught a break, but… Seriously. So, of course, Dean took it upon himself to do what he did back when Sam was  _ actually _ fifteen… Annoy the moodiness out of him. 

He started out small, just poking fun at Sam here and there, just enough to force a laugh out of him. But when that stopped working, he went a little further. If jokes couldn’t make Sam laugh, Dean had other tactics that were more… physical. One thing that he knew would make Sam yelp was when Dean would jab his finger into the side of Sam’s waist. One time they had a jabbing war and they both had huge bruises on their sides for weeks. Dean was hesitant to start it up again, especially because he knew Sam would get payback, but his little brother’s sad puppy face was getting a little too much to handle. And if Dean could cheer him up, even if it meant being bodily harmed, it was worth it. The thing was, Sam’s reflexes were quick. Maybe even quicker than Dean’s. So Dean would have to find a way to get close to his brother without letting it be known that he is about to get jabbed. 

It took a few tries, but the first real attempt was a huge success. Dean was cooking and asked Sam to grab a pan and put it on the stove. Dean was already at the stove, stirring a pot of chili that he was gonna leave to simmer all day, and he really didn’t need the pan at all, but Sam, being the hopeless cook he is, didn’t question it even for a second. Sam walked over to Dean, pan in hand, and set it on the stove. Well, he dropped it on the stove. After yelping and jumping away. Dean had gotten a good pinch in, and Sam was suddenly several feet away, hand clutching his side. 

“Gotta work on your reflexes, Sammy,” Dean says exuberantly. Sam’s face goes red and he glares at Dean, letting his hand drop away from his bruised flesh.

“You’re a friggin’ jerk,” Sam pouts. And, the thing is, Dean doesn’t mean to laugh as hard as he does, but… Sam’s pout-y face is just too damn good. He sighs and looks back over to Sam, who is now smiling evilly with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Oh, it’s on,” Sam states matter-of-fact-ly before leaving the kitchen, a confident swag to his step. And frankly, Dean had never been so thrilled. 

________

By the end of the day, they were both nursing vicious bruises, and tallying up points. Sam had gotten Dean nine times. Sam says it was ten, but the one where he snuck up behind him ‘didn’t count’ because he had Dean cornered in the pantry, and Dean deemed it cheating because there was no way for him to defend himself. Sam of course, called bullshit, but Dean was adamant. And it’s not like it really mattered anyways. Dean had only gotten Sam four more times, adding up to a whopping tally of... five. But really, Dean believed it wasn’t an even match anyways. After all, Sam was bigger and probably stronger than him, although he’d never admit it outright. So, he decided that he needed a change of strategy. There was no way he would win if he just brute forced it, and when he tallied it up, the only times he really got Sam good was when he was being extra sneaky. They were both very aware of their surroundings at all times, but Sam tended to be able to relax a lot more than Dean, and Dean decided to take advantage of that fact. 

They finally sat down for dinner, and Dean watched as Sam slowly relaxed back into his seat, once he was sure Dean couldn’t jab him from across the table. Sam had his laptop open, researching something (what else is new) as he tucked into the chili Dean had been working on all day. Sam tensed back up when Dean got up to get water. It would have worked, Dean thought, but Sam was still a little too alert. Dean sat back down, water in hand, lulling Sam into a sense of security. Now was the time to strike. 

“Hey, you want seconds?” Dean asked Sam with a careful tone. Sam grunted a yes, and handed Dean his bowl, carefully sliding it across the table to keep his distance. 

Dean chuckled and brought both bowls to the counter next to the stove. His sock-padded feet made little to no noise as he slowly crept back over to where Sam was seated. His little brother was leaning into his laptop, furiously typing and clicking away and whatever it was he would be doing right now. Dean sidled up behind Sam and slowly leaned closer, trying to keep his breathing silent. He darted his hand out in front of him, reflexes as quick as they possibly could be… But Sam was quicker. Dean’s fingertips barely grazed Sam’s side before Sam snatched Dean’s wrist with a nearly bone-shattering grasp. Dean gasped and instinctively tried to yank his hand away, only to be pulled back towards Sam even harder, falling forward, practically seamlessly pressed against Sam’s side.

“You really thought that would work?” Sam drawled in his ear, “Gettin’ slow, old man.”

“Shut up,” Dean mumbled in defeat, still trying desperately to separate himself from Sam’s terrifyingly strong grip. Sam chuckled low, and finally let go, giving Dean a little shove before turning his attention back to his computer. Dean sighed, and went back to the counter. He dished up their second helpings and made his way back to the table. 

His main excuse is that he wasn’t expecting it. After all, he had just tried to pull a fast one on Sam. But really, maybe he was just getting slow. He found himself being pinned against the table as he set Sam’s bowl down, Sam’s hands skirting mercilessly all over his sensitive sides. He jerks back and bangs his hip into the corner of the table right as Sam accidentally trips him, and he crashes to the floor, taking Sam with him. Dean hits the ground first, Sam’s huge body slamming into his chest a split second after. He gasps for breath as he slowly feels his right hip and shoulder blade throb. But Sam doesn’t wait more than a few beats before he has his hands all over him again. 

Dean shouts and coughs, trying to squirm away from the assault on his waist and ribs. He smacks his hands at Sam, and soon he starts shoving his little brother off. It doesn’t work though, so Dean finds the strength needed to flip his giant little brother, hooking his foot around Sam’s ankle and twisting his whole body, getting the leverage needed to turn the tables. He sits on top of Sam, heaving, trying to find air for a few moments before sliding his hands down to Sam’s waist and tickling. Sam screeches and flails, trying to flip Dean back over, but not succeeding. Dean breathlessly laughs out loud and glances up at Sam's face. 

His cheeks are flushed, dimples etched into a seemingly permanent smile, teeth beaming while beneath his lips, trying his hardest to hide the grin. His eyes are shining with mischief when he isn’t scrunching them shut in the struggle. His hair is splayed out against the grimy yellow floor, swimming along the linoleum as he tosses his head back and forth. Dean’s eyes trail down his little brother's neck and chest, watching as his muscles clench and twist. Taking in the slight sheen of sweat starting to build up. 

“Dean?” Sam breathes questioningly. Dean hadn’t really realized that he had stopped assaulting Sam’s torso to stare at his body. Dean felt the heat rise on his face as his palms clammed up. He suddenly felt incredibly ill. So, like a true Winchester, he laughed it off.

“When the fuck did you get so skinny, bitch?” The comment comes out a bit more shaky than Dean would like, but he blames it on his lack of oxygen. He slaps a hand down onto Sam’s chest, snatching it back after leaving it a beat too long, curious to see what all those toned, lean muscles felt like under his hand. 

“Dean.”

“I mean, I certainly feed you enough, right? It’s probably all that green you eat. Gotta get more red meat in you, eh?”

“Dean,” Sam arches his body, and Dean tries to get up, only to be dragged back down by Sam’s strong arms.

“Uh, Sam? W-we should finish dinner. It’ll get cold if we leave it too long, and I spent way too much time on that shit to have you waste it because you wanna have a cuddle session on the floor--”

Dean snaps his mouth closed and shuts up the second he feels Sam’s hands on his back, slowly creeping up to his neck. All Dean can do is stare down at his beautiful brother, and wonder when he stopped being his  _ baby _ brother. It wasn’t like they never had thoughts about this… whatever it was. By the time Sam turned sixteen Dean started getting suspicious. He would still bitch at Dean, but he would also imitate the girls that Dean would bring home. He would flirt, blink his eyelashes, and lean against surfaces as seductively as a sixteen year-old boy possibly could. At first Dean thought that he just wanted attention, but the further Sam took things, the less certain Dean was of his own conclusion. But when he ran off to Stanford, all those suspicions were crushed. But Dean still got this feeling every now and again. And it wasn’t like it was completely one-sided. Dean sure had intrusive thoughts of his own, especially that day he got back from hell to find Sam in that motel room… But he mostly chalked it up to missing his brother. 

But really, that wasn’t the only time. He remembered the time he sat in a random parking lot at Stanford, wondering if Sam would be as happy to see Dean as Dean was to see Sam again. Dean had punished himself for a long time, probably subconsciously, for feeling the way he did. But Sam probably felt the same if his actions meant anything. He left  _ Jess  _ for Dean. That had to mean something, right? But, what did it mean? What was Dean even feeling right now? He wouldn’t call it attraction, per se. Maybe mutual love and codependency? He wasn’t sure. There probably weren't enough words in the dictionary to describe what they were to each other. Although, he does think back to that day they were both shot dead by other hunters ten years ago. He remembered Ash saying something about soulmates sharing a heaven, then giving them both a pointed look. Dean wonders what that meant. Maybe it was true. After all they had been through together, being soulmates as well wasn’t exactly a stretch. But, that still doesn’t explain what was happening at this very moment. Not ten years ago.

Dean is dragged back to the present as he feels Sam’s fingers of his left hand stroke the nape of his neck, tangling in the hair that was probably getting way too long. His body betrays him, giving off a massive shiver as Sam’s right hand plays down Dean’s spine. Dean doesn’t realize that he is looking away until Sam’s huge hand rests on his cheek, turning his head back to focus on Sam. His little brother. God, his  _ little brother _ . Dean squirms and fights Sam’s encircling arm, trying to get away without offending Sam too much. 

“Dean,” Sam whispers as he caresses Dean’s cheek. He rubs Dean’s back and digs his nails into his flesh, trying to lean up to Dean’s face and  _ oh god it’s too much it’s wrong stop stop stop-- _

“Stop. Sam, stop,” Dean hisses, and Sam snatches his hands away as if he had just been burned. Dean scrambles away as soon as he feels Sam’s hands leave his skin, feeling searing heat where they had once been. 

“Oh god, Dean, I-- I’m so sorry. I didn’t--” Sam stutters. He inches away from Dean and rubs at his face as if that will erase what just happened.

“I-I know. Just… Gimme a second,” Dean mumbles. He cringes as he watches Sam’s dejected face fill with hope again. He has to look away and put his thoughts together, but nothing seems to make sense. Sam reached into Dean and grabbed everything he had pushed down for the past few decades, ripping it out with just a touch and a word. He turns around, trying to not let his emotions show on his face. Dean finally turns around to see Sam’s tired face staring back at him. He roughly rubs at his face, as if Dean didn’t see the sad, quiet tiredness etched into his features already. They sit in silence for a second until Dean realizes how much his hands are shaking. He hears John’s voice in the back of his head to put that to use, and quickly stands up, grabbing the bowls off the table and walking over to the sink. Once he turns on the water, he can hear Sam let out little sobs and sniffles, trying to disguise it with the sound of their semi-functioning sink. 

Dean doesn’t stop until the whole kitchen is spotless. Once the shaking stops, Dean feels like he just ran a marathon, both mentally and physically. What he really wants is to just turn tail and run to his room and pass out so he doesn’t have to think about what just happened. But when he turns around he sees Sam, still sitting in the exact same position, legs curled up to his chest, head resting on his knees, and decides against just going to bed. He walks over to Sam and stops barely a foot away. He tries his voice, and it comes out as a weak whisper, but it’s enough to get Sam’s attention. He raises his head from his knees and looks up at Dean. Not mad, not sad… Scared. Sam looks terrified behind his wall of exhaustion, and Dean has to stop himself from wanting to kill whatever did this to his brother, because he knows who did. It was him. 

“Sammy,” He croaks, “I… I don’t know what to do here.” Dean was being completely honest. He truly did not know what to do. It wasn’t like this wasn’t inevitable. Dean kind of knew they would end up like this one day ever since Sam suggested they quit hunting. Of course, Dean had been trying to avoid it for as long as possible. He wasn’t really ready to have a gay crisis just yet, at least not until they finally settled down for real. Especially not for his little brother,  _ oh god…  _

“Nothing. Nothing has to happen. We can go back to what we were before and everything will be fine, okay? I promise.” Sam begged.

“Back to… Back to what, Sam?”

“I-- I don’t know, just… Please don’t leave me.”

“Leave?” Dean almost laughs, “Sam, after what we’ve been through, I think that’s kind of out of the cards, yeah?”

“I guess so,” Sam laughs bitterly. 

“Okay, so…” Dean takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. “Jesus christ. What is this, Sammy? You gotta tell me what’s going on, man.”

“I-- I don’t know. I mean, I think I love you. Well, not in the way we’re supposed to, but, I think-- I  _ thought  _ maybe you did too? Maybe it was always there?” Sam paused to study Dean’s face, which he kept carefully blank. “Fuck, and you were just  _ there  _ and… And things just felt right finally when they have felt wrong for so long, and I thought maybe you were feeling that way too because--”

“Alright Sammy, okay,” Dean interrupted, “I-- I’m not sure what that was. I think-- maybe you’re right? But, I’m not ready… I mean, I think I need some time. We’ll… I don’t know. We’ll figure something out, okay? Just give me a little time. Please.”

“Okay. Okay, Dean,” Sam sighs. He attempts a smile, but Dean can tell it’s completely empty. He would console his brother, but he was just too damn tired, and really didn’t feel like having a talk. So he did what he usually does. He pushes it down until he can expend it on something useful.

That’s when they both decided to go on the next hunt they found.


	6. Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy's final hunt together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Okay so I know it feels a little rushed, and this is the last chapter, but I just desperately want to continue the story! There are a few things I want to say. First off, I saw a lot of people on social media saying that there five years had actually passed between 15x19 and 15x20, but I couldn't find any definitive proof, and that just seems like a cheap save, so in case people were wondering, no I don't think they actually had five years together. 
> 
> I just want to say, thank you so much to everyone who decided to give me a chance and read this fanfic! It's my first one, and I was so excited about it. I want to make this into a whole universe. I have a bunch more to share with you guys, and I hope you stick around for it!
> 
> (Title is the song Heroes by Peter Gabriel!)

They were a little off their game during the hunt, Sam will say that much for sure. Of course, it was a fairly easy hunt, so he wasn’t so worried. They made jokes and poked fun at each other like usual, but there was certainly an air of awkwardness between them. Dean still hadn’t talked about what had happened that night, and Sam wasn’t about to push him into it. Sam didn’t really know what happened himself. He knew that they had been wrestling, just horsing around, and suddenly Dean was giving him sex-eyes. Sam, knowing all his feelings for Dean that he repressed as a teenager were going to resurface sooner or later, decided to test the waters. Honestly, he didn’t know what to think of Dean’s reaction. On one hand, he took it a lot better than Sam would’ve thought, but on the other hand, it was a little unsettling to see his big brother actually take something to heart and not try and laugh it off. 

So yes, they were off their game. They fell into each other’s step as they interrogated the vamp they had caught. Dean could be really scary when he wanted to be, and Sam was honestly having a blast playing along. He flicked out his little knife at just the right moment, earning a proud smirk from Dean that just about made his day. Dean circled the purgatory spawn and continued to threaten it, making gestures with his matchette and pointing to Sam as he gave the vamp the option between the two blades. Sam knew Dean would get answers out of the creature either way, but he became giddy when Dean finally broke him, and they found out where the nest was. 

This was the first hunt they had been on in a while, so Sam was a little nervous. He had this feeling. It almost felt like the feeling he would get all those years ago whenever he had a psychic episode. Of course, he would never tell Dean that, so he kept it quiet. But as they drove, Sam felt the uneasiness peak and turned to Dean. He was in the driver’s seat, where he belonged. He had a pre-hunt tense air about him, but he had never looked more like himself. Chiseled features set in a determined and ready expression, like no one could possibly fuck with him. Which was true. You don’t generally fuck with the people who defeated God himself. Sam smiled, but it probably came out a little more crooked than he hoped, because Dean gave him a questioning look. He looked away, ignoring Dean.

He flinched when he felt Dean rub his shoulder, but immediately relaxed into the touch. They had kept their distance for long enough, and the physical contact alone was almost orgasmic. He held back his gratefulness though, afraid of making Dean uncomfortable, not wanting to risk breaking the contact. 

“So tense, man. Loosen up,” Dean grumbled under his breath as he started massaging out the kinks on Sam’s shoulder. It kind of hurt, after all Dean was never great at soothing tense muscles, not to mention the angle was all off. Sam shifted closer and leaned forward. Dean’s hand stilled for a moment, but then he kept at it. Sam could feel heat growing in his body as Dean continued, one hand on Sam’s back, one on the steering wheel. Sam was glad he had leaned forward. He flinched and flexed his back muscles when Dean hit a particularly sore spot.

“Huh,” Dean sighed quietly as he skated his hand over Sam’s flexed shoulder blades. Sam tried to hide the smile that shone on his face at his brother’s praise. Sam steadied himself by planting his elbows on his knees and letting his head fall forward. It was really cramped in the Impala, but he somehow managed it. As he began to relax, he hyper-fixated on the feeling of Dean’s strong hand against his flesh. He felt when Dean dug the heel of his hand in behind his shoulder. He felt his calloused fingers pressing in by his neck. It would have been too much under other circumstances, having his brother so close, touching him, but he was too nervous about the hunt to really let himself go, so he just reveled in this feeling for the time being. It felt so good, to the point where he almost whimpered when he felt Dean remove his deft hand from his back.

“You should get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get there,” Dean says gruffly, probably overcompensating for the tender moment. Sam cleared the growing lump in his throat.

“Yeah, okay.” He waited for Dean to pull over, then he slid into the backseat. He really had to curl himself up to even remotely fit, but it was better than trying to sleep in the passenger seat. As he closed his eyes, he listened to the sound of his brother’s breathing and the low crooning of the Billy Squier tape that Dean had put in. Between the two familiar sounds and the rumble of the Impala, Sam found himself drifting off quicker than he had in months. 

________

He was pretty disoriented when he woke up, but once he heard Dean’s humming, everything else fell into place. He glanced at his watch, _damn_ , he thought. Only about thirty minutes had passed. He rubbed his face, and Dean glanced backwards at him, then sighed and shook his head.

“Thought you were out, man.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam grumbled. 

“Go back to sleep.” Dean commanded gently. Sam huffed a laugh at the prospect of trying to go back to sleep, but obeyed anyways. He felt even more tired after the short nap, but every time he started to drift off, something made him jolt back awake. Mostly intrusive thoughts. He couldn’t help the looming feeling of their quickly-approaching hunt, and found himself expending his nervous energy by twisting his hands together. It was a nervous tic he had developed recently. He felt like he should always be doing something with his hands.

“It’s just a couple vamps, dude.” Dean voiced, hyper-aware of Sam’s nerves. Sam jumped at his voice, and his hands stilled. 

“Wha-- I know.”

“Do you? What's wrong then?”

“Nothing.” Sam lied. “Just… Be careful, okay?”

“Uh,” Dean gave Sam an amused look, “why wouldn’t I? What the hell is going on inside your head, man? It’s not about… you know. Is it?”

“What?”

“You know, _us._ ”

“No, no,” Sam gets flustered and starts massaging his own hands again. But he knew deep down that it was absolutely about them. This weird atmosphere was making them off kilter, and that really never bode well. “It's just… First hunt in a while, you know?”

“Huh, I guess.” Dean shifts in his seat and rubs his face. “Well shit, now you got me all nervous. We fought so many big bads, how hard could this be?”

“No, you’re right. It’s stupid,” Sam laughs and turns away.

“Nah, not stupid. You just don’t got anything to worry about. It’s just a quick in and out, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam mumbled. He was completely awake now, and there was no way he was going back to sleep. The sky was already starting to brighten anyways, soon it would be morning. So he sat and kept messing with his hands, rubbing and picking at the several calluses that he had. He felt his heart rate pick up, and his breaths shorten. He willed himself to calm down, but was in the throes of a panic attack before he could stop it. He sat quietly, trying to reestablish a proper breathing pattern, but it felt like he forgot what that was. He clenched his hands into fists and slowly relaxed them. Over and over again. Sam was finally jolted out of the weird trance he put himself into by the sound and feeling of tire hitting gravel.

Dean rolled the car to a stop, patting the shotgun seat. 

“Get up here. This is weird. I know you’re awake, and I can practically hear you thinking.” 

Sam forced a smile and willed himself to calm down as he slowly got out of the backseat. He stretched his slightly trembling form before walking around the car and getting into the other side at the passenger door. He tucked himself back into the passenger seat and closed the door behind him. Dean started pulling back onto the road without looking at Sam, and kept staring ahead as they drove. _So much for needing to see me,_ Sam mused to himself. He tried to hide how bad his hands were shaking, but messing with them was just as obvious a tell to Dean. So of course he noticed.

“Uh, listen. You can… uh. Shit.” Dean slammed his hand down onto the seat between them and held it palm-up. “I’m not asking you to hold my hand, but I’ll let you. Because you’re such a fucking girl, got it?”

“O-okay,” Sam’s face flushed and his palm started sweating even more so than it was almost immediately. It surprised Sam that Dean, being the emotionally constipated manly-man that he was, would even suggest such a thing. But he knew why he said it. Of course Dean could tell when Sam was feeling off, they were basically just an extension of the other at this point. He swallowed and gently curled his hand around Dean’s.

“God, you’re so sweaty, man. It’s gross,” Dean griped. Sam smiled and squeezed his hand harder, rubbing his sweat into Dean’s palm. Dean kept complaining and teasing Sam, but never let go. It helped Sam more than he could describe with words. Soon his hands stopped shaking, which made him want to touch Dean even more. Show him how grateful he was to his big brother with more than words. But he knew that this was more than enough for Dean. So Sam kept his smile and hands to himself, settling for gently stroking the side of Dean’s hand with his thumb, and if Dean noticed, he didn’t say anything. 

_Dean’s right,_ Sam thought to himself with a smile, _everything will be fine._

________

  
  


Oh, how wrong he was. 

Sam can’t remember how long he had stood there, his body pressed against Dean, the only thing other than the pole that killed him holding his brother’s limp form up against the old wooden post. That is all that Sam is right now, after all. Just a physical object to hold his brother. He felt so numb, almost like he was soulless again, just more painful. He knew that the feeling hadn’t really hit yet. There was still a large part of him that believed Dean would scoff and push him away, telling him off for being such a big dumb girl. They would shove at each other and walk out of the barn together, resting easy in the knowledge that they had saved more people today. But there was an ever-growing part of Sam that knew how untrue that notion was. 

A few more tears rolled down his face as he felt the burn in his lungs, screaming at him to breathe. But he didn’t want to. As he held on to the lifeless shell that his shining brother had once occupied, he realized that he never wanted to breathe again. It started to hit him, the finality of what just happened as he had that realization, along with many others. They would never hunt together again. They would never cook together again. They would never try to fix the heater again. No more drives in the Impala together. No more pointless arguments. No more stupid games. He would never watch Dean come into the kitchen, sleepy and sated, ready for breakfast. He would never see Miracle bark and jump up and down when Dean comes home from wherever he was. Sam would never… Never get to hold his hand. Hug him… Kiss him. Sam held his breath until his knees gave out and the world started going black.

_‘Always keep fighting…’_ Dean’s voice echoes in his head as he gasps unenthusiastically for oxygen. 

“I can’t,” He whimpers helplessly, finally registering that he had hit the ground. He digs his fingers into his brother's jeans and presses his face against the thigh. “Fuck. Why-- How could you ask me something like that?” Sam chokes on another sob, but lets himself weep. He tried to save face in front of Dean, but now that he is gone… Well what would be the point? He’s never coming back. Or, maybe…

Sam drags himself to his feet and looks around the barn through tear-filled eyes. He slowly pulls Dean’s body off of the spike and winces at the horrifying sound it makes as he pulls him away. He tries not to look. It will make it so much worse. So he lays Dean on the ground, flat on his back and a position Sam could only hope might be comfortable, and steps back. Sam looks up at the rafters and scoffs at himself, wondering why he didn’t think of this sooner.

“Hey, Jack,” Sam begins shakily. His voice is wrecked, but he doesn’t bother trying to mask it. “Uh, I know you said you were gonna be hands off but Dean-- Dean’s hurt. Well, d-d-dead. I need-- I need help, p-please.” Sam chokes on the last few words, but succeeds in getting them out. He waits for a few beats, then tries again.

“Jack, get down here. Please,” This time it comes out as a whisper and Sam can feel his hope slowly slipping away again. He clears his throat.

“Jack.” He falls to his knees again.

“Jack, please.” Sam looks down at Dean’s body, and starts to cry again. He lays down next to his brother’s body and lays his head on his chest. Surely his heart will start any minute. If there was any time for Jack to pull through, it would be now. 

“Please,” He whispers as he curls himself around a corpse. But he knows deep down, no one’s listening. Not anymore. Not ever again.

“Dean,” Sam gasps out in between newly found sobs. He fists his brother’s shirt and presses against him like he would back when he was ten, and having a string of nightmares every night. He remembers how Dean would whisper nonsense to him, jokes and stories about two boys who lived happily ever after with each other. He remembers the stupid, awkward silence that had been lingering between the two of the for upwards of a week now. Sam tries to think of all the things he wished he could’ve said to Dean in that time, but he can only come up with one thing at the end of it all. 

“I love you,” Sam sighs against Dean’s neck, his tears still falling silently as his body instinctively calms his violent sobs at the feeling of being so close to his brother's body. Dean said it too. He said he loved Sam. Of course he does, how else would they have gotten that far? But, this felt different. Maybe it was the resolution to something they had both wondered for a while. Maybe Dean holding his hand in the car meant something more than just comforting his little brother. Maybe love. Not love, like the way they have always loved each other… Well, maybe it was. It didn't matter though, no matter how Dean felt, Sam would always love his big brother more than anything. 

More than life itself, for better or for worse.

Sam doesn’t remember how long he lies there. Not that it matters to him. Nothing did at that moment. The one thing keeping him tethered to reality slipped away so easily. He feels himself slip away from his body, and suddenly everything hurts a little less. Everything feels numb though, which might be worse, although, not much is worse than the pain he felt. He tries to get up, and his body doesn’t feel real. Like all of his limbs are being dragged along by strings and pulleys. 

He doesn’t remember gathering up Dean’s body, or building the pyre. What stays terribly vivid in the moment it catches on fire. He remembers thinking how strangely fitting it was. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and all that. He doesn’t even think about having people there. Just the thought of all those people… He knows it’s what Dean would have wanted, but he can’t bring himself to call up anyone. Not when he’d have to talk about it. So Sam finds himself drifting around the bunker for an indeterminable amount of time. It could have been hours, or days, and he couldn’t tell. But honestly? He really didn’t care. There were way too many times he found himself standing in the bathroom, razor against his wrist, pressing hard enough to sting, before he snapped back to reality. His hands shake all the time now. He needs to  _ do  _ something.

The phone call that comes is quite literally a life saver. Some guy asks for agent Bon Jovi, which Sam recognizes as one of Dean’s aliases right away. He gathers his belongings, everything he could possibly need, as he readies himself to leave the bunker. The case is in Colorado, so he won’t be here for a while. He hesitates at Dean’s door, resisting the urge to knock. After all, there’s no one there to answer. But he eventually goes inside, trying not to look too closely at the decor. He takes a couple tapes he finds lying on the nightstand; exactly where he had arranged them just days before. He also gathers all the pictures he can, knowing he’ll regret leaving them later, even if he can’t stand to look at them now. 

He has to mentally prepare himself before going through Dean’s duffel. He shuts down, moving mechanically and without emotion. He finds the pearl-handled colt and places it gingerly into his own duffel. Not that he has to handle it with care, that thing has been through hell and back. He chuckles at himself for being ridiculous. Dean would’ve man-handled the thing, throwing it this way and that. Not that he was careless with guns, he was just much rougher on them than Sam ever was. Sam starts tearing up as he imagines Dean putting .45 rounds into the dummies in the shooting range for target practice. He’ll never watch Dean’s shoulders tense and loosen as he packs scarily accurate shots into the targets again.

He stops his train of thought and goes back to robotically gathering things he needs. He checks the pockets in the duffel for anything he might need. He finds a small med kit, and decides to take it. The last pocket contains something that breaks Sam once again. As soon he feels the leather cord, he chokes back a sob. He closes his hand around the cold bronze of the amulet and Shoves it into his pocket before he can look at it too long.  _ He fucking kept it,  _ Sam says to himself,  _ after everything, he still kept it. _

That’s about all Sam can take. He stands up and grabs his own duffel, leaving the room. He shuts the door behind him. He doesn’t even try to lie to himself. He probably won’t ever come back to the bunker. It’s just too damn huge without Dean. It was big before, but without Dean, it feels unfathomably large. Everything does. So he goes down to the maintenance room, and pulls the plug. Only the front-room lights are on as he treads up the stairs, Miracle trailing after him. He flips them all off though as he leaves, shutting the door behind him for the last time.


End file.
